


Seeking a Window Out

by the_rck



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Not Prime Time, Potential pre-Han Solo/Darth Vader, Telepathy, Torture, non-consensual telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/pseuds/the_rck
Summary: Things go a bit differently for Han at the end of The Empire Strikes Back.After all, why on earth would Vader give up such a powerful lever against Luke?





	Seeking a Window Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



> I hope this is sufficiently Vader/Han for you. I hoped it might be given the specifics of the prompt.
> 
> Thanks to Merfilly for beta reading.
> 
> The title comes from Braided Creek by Jim Harrison and Ted Kooser.

Han wasn’t surprised by anything that happened, not until after Vader dismissed the stormtroopers. He hadn’t enjoyed any of it, but it followed the script he expected. The stormtroopers had stripped him to the waist, beaten him, hung him by his wrists, and then beaten him further. Han had struggled and snarled and spat in their faces. They’d gotten him to scream, eventually, but he figured he’d done well enough, given the givens.  
   
Han had almost forgotten Vader was present until Vader said, “Stop.”  
   
Han hung there, gasping, torn between relief and terror. He had no idea what Vader would do. No idea what Vader _could_ do.  
   
Vader flicked gloved fingers at the door. “Leave us,” he told the stormtroopers. He sounded bored.  
   
After the stormtroopers had gone, Vader circled Han.  
   
Han tried to twist to keep the Sith lord in sight. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. Vader’s mask, Vader’s suit, they hid every hint of what the man was thinking. Han couldn’t guess what he wanted. Not that Han had ever been good at the grifting side of things. He just thought that, if he had the slightest idea where to start, trying couldn’t make anything worse.

Vader stopped in front of Han and took Han’s chin in a vise-like grip.  
   
Han tried to pull away.  
   
“There are two things I won’t do, Solo.” Vader’s words sounded almost gentle. “I won’t kill you, and I won’t give you to any bounty hunter. That is not a mercy. I am quite sure you will never be grateful for it.”  
   
Han spat on Vader’s mask. Vader backhanded him.  
   
Vader took two steps back and looked Han up and down. “Which will make Skywalker angrier-- If you are my slave and hate everything I do or if you are so much mine that the idea of hating no longer occurs to you?” He moved in close again and ran one hand along Han’s side.  
   
Han felt something like electricity where Vader’s glove touched his skin. There wasn’t enough of it to hurt, but he was quite sure there could be. He shuddered. “You expect me to tell you?”  
   
“Eventually, yes. Everyone comes to that given time.” Vader cupped Han’s cheek. “But please, do fight me. It’s much less tedious that way. Maybe I’ll enjoy you enough to keep you when you’re no longer useful.”  
   
Han felt a building pressure in his head and tried to pull away from Vader’s hand. He made a choking sound of protest. His world narrowed down to Vader’s hand on his cheek and the feeling that something-- someone-- was trying to split his mind so that it opened like the two halves of a Corellian bifer nut.  
   
After, he wasn’t sure how long it had lasted, but he thought his mind was still his own when the pressure eased. He had a sick certainty that it wouldn’t last, not unless he was very, very lucky. Not unless someone rescued him.  
   
Han didn’t think anyone was going to rescue him.  
   
“I like the texture of your mind.”  
   
Han couldn’t tell if Vader meant it or if he was trying to throw Han further into terror. Was there a reason it couldn’t be both? “What the hell does that mean?”  
   
Vader chuckled. “You can experience things that I… no longer can. Through you, through other, occasional toys, I have… options. All you have to do is let me in…”  
   
Han felt a sudden desperate desire to do anything Vader wanted, anything at all. “No.” Saying that was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he almost couldn’t hear his own voice. “No.” It was a little easier the second time.  
   
Vader’s finger traced a line from Han’s collarbone to the top of his trousers.  
   
As the finger moved, Han felt as if it were a knife sunk deep in his flesh. He choked on a scream and tried to pull away. When he looked down, his chest and abdomen appeared undamaged, but he could still feel the wound. “No…” It was more an attempt to deny reality than a refusal to surrender. He wanted to believe that there wasn’t enough pain in the universe to break him, but he knew. In his gut, he knew.

After that, Han lost track of everything but his desperate need for the pain to end. He understood that the repeated, brief breaks were not respites but amplifiers. Each time Vader started in again, it was worse because Han had had a reminder that absence of pain was possible. Screaming made the pain a little easier to bear, so he screamed. He had tried not to before because he feared Leia and Chewbacca might hear.  
   
Now, the only other person who existed was Vader.  
   
Han was never sure, later, how long it took his mind to crack. There was simply a point when, in addition to the physical pain, he felt Vader rummaging through his memories. The torture continued well past that. Once Vader had finally left him alone, Han wondered if that had been to keep him from fighting mentally or if it had simply been that Vader enjoyed hurting him.  
   
Unconsciousness came as a relief, and Han embraced it.  
   
When he awoke, he was lying on a padded bench in a small cell. He didn’t think he had much more than two meters in either dimension. The light overhead was too bright, and he was pretty sure it would never turn off. Lack of light might make it harder for the cameras in the corners of the room to track him.  
   
There was a toilet and a sink. He made use of both. He couldn’t get his head under the faucet, but he splashed water over himself in hopes of waking up more completely.  
   
He was still wearing trousers, just not his trousers. These were gray and flimsy, with an elastic waist and no place to hide anything. Someone had obviously washed him as the blood and dirt and sweat were gone. That he hadn’t awakened for that worried him more than a little.  
   
His feet were bare. The floor felt hard and a little slick underfoot, cool but not actually chilly. He didn’t expect anything to go that far in his favor, but he tried the door anyway. When it didn’t open, he retreated to the bench and tried to find a position to sit in that didn’t make his bruises scream.  
   
He knew he should think, should plan, but every attempt brought him back to Vader, and he couldn’t. He really couldn’t. So he just stared blankly at the wall and waited.  
   
After some time, it occurred to him that he probably wasn’t on Cloud City any more. If he were, the toilet probably wouldn’t be configured to close up if gravity went. His hope that Luke might come to rescue him, his smaller hope that Chewbacca and Leia would find a way, and his infinitesimally small hope that Lando might double cross Vader all evaporated like water spilled on Tatooine.  
   
He really hoped that Leia and Chewbacca weren’t also on Vader’s ship.  
   
After, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been left there alone. Food came through a slot every so often. There were never any utensils, and the tray dissolved into dust after a short time. Han ended up dumping the first meal down the toilet because he hadn’t started eating before the tray went. He wasn’t hungry enough to eat glop mixed with dust from the tray. It might not be toxic, but he wasn’t prepared to risk it.  
   
He tried the door three times before he admitted to himself that he felt relieved when it didn’t open. He kept doing it from time to time because he’d be damned if he was going to let whoever was watching know that he was afraid.  
   
After seven meals, the door opened to reveal two stormtroopers with drawn blasters and a very bored looking officer.  
   
When the officer waved for Han to stand, Han waited about three seconds before complying. He tried to maintain his defiant attitude, but he suspected that his sneer and insults weren’t even remotely convincing. He was afraid they were taking him to Vader.  
   
They took him to another room, just down the corridor and then two left turns away, where he could shower. They gave him clean trousers. Then they took him back to his cell. Well, he thought it was the same one. It was as spotless as it had been when he first awakened, so either someone had cleaned it or it was a different cell. And somebody’d have to clean the original cell eventually, right? So it probably was.  
   
If they were on a ship, and everything Han had seen pointed that way, it was probably a star destroyer. Han let himself fantasize a little about finding his way to a hangar and stealing a ship. Not the _Falcon_. Leia and Chewbacca would have escaped in that. He wouldn’t even consider that they might not have.  
   
Surely Vader knew that Han would sell Luke out in a heartbeat to save either of the others? Luke would even want him to. That sort of compromise was alien to Leia, though, so she’d never forgive him.  
   
But Han lost his latest meal when he could no longer keep himself from imagining what Vader would do to her. Then he remembered that she had been in Vader’s hands before and started wondering what had happened to her. She’d never mentioned it. Not once.  
   
He thought she was stronger than he was.  
   
They let him wash again after another seven meals. He found himself both hoping that he’d been forgotten and utterly desperate for company other than his own thoughts. He tried singing to break the silence, but the words kept escaping him. Most of the songs he knew worked better with a lot of alcohol anyway.  
   
A lot of alcohol sounded like a wonderful idea. Especially if he never had to sober up.  
   
The third chance to wash came after only two meals, and Han’s guts knotted because that had to mean something. He was even more sure of it when they gave him a shirt of the same flimsy cloth as his trousers and took him to a barber who shaved him and trimmed his hair.  
   
He prayed they’d take him back to his cell, but they took him to Vader instead.  
   
Vader had his back to the door when it opened to admit Han and his guards. He didn’t turn to look, just said, “Leave him.”  
   
The door closing again as the guards left sounded terribly loud to Han’s ears. He locked his knees in an effort to stop them shaking then forced himself to look around. The room was dark, and the shadows made guessing its size difficult. One wall was a viewport, and Vader was facing that. He had his hands clasped behind his back. There were large, unmoving shapes in the shadows that Han couldn’t identify. Probably equipment of some sort.

Han didn’t find that at all reassuring.

“Most of it,” Vader said, “is medical support for my body and maintenance for the cybernetics.”

Han flinched.

“Yes. You can’t keep me out.” Vader sounded amused. “But, by all means, fight it.”

Han stared at Vader’s unmoving back and wished he was fool enough to attack.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already. I didn’t get the impression that thinking was part of your skill set. Like another young man I once knew.” 

The bitter anger in Vader’s voice terrified Han. He was fairly sure he was going to pay for that other man’s sins.

“That other man is paying already.” Vader turned to face Han and flicked the fingers of his left hand as if ridding himself of something annoying. He walked toward Han.

Han forced himself to stand his ground.

“Oh, very good.” Vader ran a gloved finger along Han’s jaw. “I waited, you know, until I could be sure I wouldn’t lose my temper with you. That would have been too easy an escape for you, wouldn’t it?”

Han swallowed hard and tried to find something appropriately defiant to say, but his words seemed to have deserted him.

“Don’t bother.” Vader turned and walked away. “Kneel.” He didn’t look back.

Han fought the command in Vader’s voice, but he felt as if he’d lost the ability to say no to Vader. He swallowed a sound of protest and knelt. As soon as his knees touched the floor, he felt easier. He thought he might even be able to stand again, even knowing that that was likely not what Vader wanted.

“Today is a test, Solo. Pass it, and things will be a little more pleasant for you. Fail it, and--” Vader gave a one-armed shrug. “You’ll still be useful as bait. Skywalker can sense your pain.” He disappeared into the darkness. When he came back, he had a box in his hands big enough to have held Han’s boots.

When he’d had boots. Han tried not to wonder what had happened to those. At least, he told himself, Vader doesn’t have Luke.

Vader extended a hand in Han’s direction, and the box floated through the air, coming to rest on the floor just in front of Han’s knees.

Han found himself looking at it as if it might sprout fangs and bite him.

“Open it.”

Once again, Vader’s will bore down on Han’s, and Han found his hands moving without his conscious decision. He fumbled a bit at the clasp, more because he couldn’t see it well than because he was trying to resist. When he had the lid off, he blinked at the contents, a collection of stoppered vials lay inside. The padded interior glowed enough that Han could see that the vials were labeled. He couldn’t read the language, however.

He ran his fingers over the first row of vials and brushed the lining as he did. It was soft and textured in a way that felt fuzzy.

Vader made a small noise that Han couldn’t interpret. “Pick a vial and open it.”

This time, Han felt no compulsion. He didn’t take that as a sign that Vader would let him disobey. His hand hovered over the open box for a moment before settling on a vial from the middle. He held it up and removed the stopper.

“Smell it.”

Han waved a hand over the top of the vial to waft the scent toward him. A dealer in undocumented cargoes generally learned the hard way not to stick his nose directly into an unknown substance. Assuming he survived making the mistake to begin with. Han had only ended up high for about thirty hours. He could have been very, very dead.

It smelled rather like bread frying in butter.

“None of these will harm you.” Vader sounded as if he was having trouble speaking. “Inhale deeply. Yes, like that.”

The next vial smelled of salt water with traces of fish and seaweed, and the one after smelled fruity in a way that Han couldn’t place. With each vial Han tried, he could tell that Vader was more and more pleased, and it worried Han that he could tell.

“Close the box.”

Han obeyed.

When he had finished, Vader came close again and put a hand on the top of Han’s head. “There are rewards,” he said softly.

Han felt a rush of well being that blossomed into the most exquisite physical pleasure he had ever experienced. When it ended, he gasped and whimpered at the sudden absence. His muscles felt like they were made nothing but air. He wasn’t sure he could breathe.

“Mastery of pain, true mastery,” Vader said in a detached voice, “requires mastery of the opposite.” Vader’s hand clenched in Han’s hair and tugged until the pain was sharp enough that Han cried out. Then, abruptly, Vader let go and walked away.

Han didn’t move, didn’t dare make a sound. He tried to distract himself by thinking of Leia then tried to push the thoughts away when he realized Vader might see them.

Vader ignored him-- or at least seemed to-- for several minutes. “She will betray you, you know.” He sounded resigned, as if this was some pearl of wisdom he’d come by the hard way. He kept looking out the viewport. He didn’t so much as glance at Han. “Everyone does. The only ones you can trust-- momentarily-- are the ones whose self-interest marches with your goals. I’ve known women like your princess, many of them. They don’t slit your throat themselves; they have someone else do it for them.”

Vader finally turned back to look at Han. “She might come for you. She might not. You might have good years, but unless one of you dies, she will betray you in the end.”

Han focused on the knowledge that Leia had escaped and did his best not to think about what in Vader’s past might be behind the monologue on betrayal. He was damned sure that it wasn’t a safe subject for speculation, not while he was in the same room with Vader. Maybe not ever. He thought he knew Leia better than Vader did, though, so he had to bite his tongue to keep from arguing. He was even more certain that would be a mistake.

Was that all there was now? Just biting his tongue and hoping not to get hurt?

Vader came closer then went down on one knee and hooked a finger under Han’s chin. “You’re very, very lucky, Solo. When I’m using your senses, I want the input to be pleasant.”

Han jerked back. “Using my senses?” What the hell did that mean? He stomped hard on the beginnings of panic.

Vader stood. “What did you think I was testing? The sense of smell is hardest, very rarely possible, then taste, then touch. Sight and hearing are trivial. Anyone at all will work for those, and… Those are not senses I lack. If I can smell what you smell, the rest follow.”

Han looked up at Vader and wished again that he was seeing a face rather than a mask. He thought about saying that he didn’t want Vader in his head, but he was pretty sure that Vader already knew and didn’t care.

And it might keep Han alive until rescue arrived.


End file.
